GIFT   OF 
Elisabeth  Whitney  Putnar 


POEMS 


DRAMATIC  AND  LYRIC 


BY 


CONSTANCE  FAUNT  LE  ROY  RUNCIE 

AUTHOR  OF  "  DIVINELY  LED  " 


NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S   SONS 

&|>e  fituckerbodktt  ^tess 
1888 


COPYRIGHT  By 

CONSTANCE  FAUNT  LE  ROY  RUNCIE 
1887 


Press  of 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 
New  York 


DEDICATED 

TO 

MY    HUSBAND 


REV.  JAMES    RUNCIE,  D.D. 


To  you  I  inscribe  this  little  book.  To  you  whose 
faithful  love,  noble  example,  and  Christian  virtues  have 
made  it  a  delight  to  be  your  wife.  If  any  one  shall 
reap  pleasure  in  the  perusal  of  these  simple  little  poems, 
it  shall  be  because  to  you  I  owe  these  happy  years,  which 
made  it,  under  God,  possible  for  me  to  have  leisure  in 
our  married  life,  while  in  the  midst  of  your  own  most 
busy  and  useful  work. 

CONSTANCE  FAUNT  LE  ROY  RUNCIE. 


CHRIST  CHURCH  RECTORY, 
ST.  JOSEPH,  MISSOURI. 


iii 


LSI 


CONTENTS. 


PACK 

Two  GIFTS — POETRY  AND  SONG     .        ;       ,        .        .  .        i 

ANSELMO,  THE  PRIEST    .        .        .        .  «    _.        .        .  .        3 

DEMETRIUS     .        .       .       . n 

CHRIST  AND  THE  SOUL    ...      -•:.."..       .        .        .  •      21 

DECEIVED       .        .       ......        .  .      23 

THE  WOMAN  HE  LOVES         .'.=       ....  .      25 

SILENCE  AND  THE  SEA    .        .        .       .       ,       .        .  .      28 

THY  LOVER    .        ....       .       ,       .        .  .      29 

PRAYER  .        .       .        .       .       .        .        .'•.',.  .      31 

I  HAVE  LET  IT  Go         .        .        .        ,       .        ...      33 

THE  SPANISH  MOTHER .  35 

OH,  TO  BE  AT  REST  !       .               .       .        .        .        .  .43 

MEMORY'S  PICTURE        .        ,        .       .        .      _.        .  .      45 

FORGIVENESS  . 47 

FIRST  LOVE    .        .        .       .        .        .       ...  .      48 

THE  INTERPRETER  OF  SONG    .        .        .        .        .        .  .      50 

IF  I  MAY        .       .       ....       .        ,        .  .      52 

THIS  WOULD  I  Do .  -54 

PROUD  ANGUISH .56 

CLAUDIA         .        .        .        .        .        .        ...  .59 

WHOSE  SIN  ?   ....       .       .       .       *       .  •      65 

T 


VI  -  CONTENTS. 

PACK 

GREETING 73 

I  HOLD  MY  HEART  So  STILL 75 

A  SIMPLE  BALLAD 76 

You  AND  I      .       .        .       ,        ,        •       •        .        •        •  80 

DOVE  OF  PEACE .        .        .  82 

THE  FLOWER  COQUETTE         .        ,        .  ^  .        .        .        .  83 

IN  THE  WOODS        .        .       .       .       .        .       ...        .  84 

I  ONLY  WAIT.        .        .'      .        .        .       .       ...  86 

FLOWERS        .       .       .       .       .       .       . '  . ":".       .       .  89 

ALAS! ' ..  "   .  91 

You  WOKE  ME .  92 

KNOWN  UNTO  GOD !       .        .  93 

BROKEN  FRIENDSHIP .        .98 


TWO  GIFTS. 
POETRY  AND  SONG. 


A  star  came  falling  from  the  sky, 

I  caught  the  lovely  thing  ; 
It  was  a  song  sent  from  on  high, 

Flashed  from  an  angel's  wing. 
From  one  of  heaven's  golden  harps 

This  little  song  came  straying  ; 
It  stole  into  my  very  heart, 

As  if  I  had  been  praying. 
Who  sang  it  first,  I  do  not  know, 

Nor  how  it  lost  its  way  ; 
I  only  caught  it  to  my  heart, 

And  whispered  to  it,  "  Stay." 

A  dainty  floweret  at  my  feet, 

From  out  the  ground  came  peeping, 


"  •  •*"•  '••p'^JtAfS/'nff^ 


AND  LYRIC. 

Within  the  snow-white  chaliced  cup, 

A  Poem  lay  there  sleeping. 
'T  was  sent  to  me  from  Mother  Earth, 

By  these  most  lovely  hands  ; 
I  caught  it  to  my  heart  of  hearts, 

And  heard  its  sweet  demands. 
Who  wrote  it  first,  I  do  not  know, 

Nor  how  it  lost  its  way ; 
I  found  it  in  the  flower's  heart, 

And  whispered  to  it,  "  Stay." 

No  longer  mine  alone  are  these, 

This  flower  and  this  song, 
I  give  them  as  they  came  to  me, 

To  you  they  may  belong. 
I  only  listened  with  my  soul, 

I  only  loved  them  well, 
And  plucked  the  flower  as  it  grew, 

And  saw  the  star  that  fell. 
Who  sang — who  wrote — I  do  not  know, 

Nor  how  they  lost  their  way  ; 
I  only  caught  them  to  my  heart, 

And  whispered  to  them,  "  Stay." 


ANSELMO,  THE  PRIEST. 


SCENE — A  Roman  Catholic  cathedral^  dimly  lighted. 
DRESS — The  priest's  robes. 


ANSELMO,  THE  PRIEST. 


With  the  shades  of  evening  gathering  around  him — 
alone — in  his  dimly  lighted  and  deserted  church,  Ansel- 
mo  lies  prostrate  at  the  foot  of  the  cross,  writhing  in 
spiritual  agony.  He  speaks  : 

"  Shall  I,  a  priest  of  God,  live  on  in  sin  ? 

0  heart  of  mine,  break,  break,  but  own  it  not ; 
Thy  vows  remember  ;  consecrated  soul, 

Accept  the  stripes  laid  on  thee  quivering  hot. 

"  It  is  too  much  ;  too  much  is  asked  of  me, 

1  have  no  strength  ;  forgive,  O  mighty  God  ! 
For  I  am  spent  with  oft  repeated  fasts, 

And  faint  beneath  the  chastening  of  thy  rod. 

"  I  saw  her  here  again,  I  always  see  her 
The  lovely  face  that  ever  haunts  me  so  ; 

5 


&••*:•.•*  •'&OJ$f£it  ^  A  MA  TIC  AND  LYRIC. 


'T  was  early  Mass — were  others  here  beside  her  ? 
Alas  !  I  saw  but  her  ;  I  do  not  know. 

"  Lo  !  at  the  sacred  cross  I  '11  kneel  and  pray  ; 

It  may  be  Christ,  the  Son  of  God,  will  hear, 
And  drive  the  Devil  from  my  hungry  heart, 

And  let  me  feel  His  Holy  Presence  near. 

"  They  tell  me  I  can  sing  ;  men  praise  my  voice  ; 

They  say  't  is  rare,  that  people  come  to  hear  ; 
And  once,  when  chanting  through  the  aisle,  we  came 

Close  where  she  sat,  I  saw  her  shed  a  tear. 

"  So  close  were  we  my  vestments  touched  her  sleeve  ; 

I  thrilled  with  hottest  joy,  and  walked  on  panting. 
Her  lover  !  yes  !  although  she  only  thought 

It  was  the  priest  absorbed  in  holy  chanting. 

"  O  mercy,  Lord  ! — have  mercy  on  my  soul  ! 

I  am  the  priest  ;  shall  I  forget  my  vow  ? 
I  will  do  penance — fast — keep  vigil — pray — 

If  only  I  may  claim  thy  help  now,  now. 


POEMS,   DRAMA  TIC  AND  L  VR1C. 

"  For  Satan  comes  ;  I  hear  his  whisper  vile  : 
Why  this  I  've  often  thought  before — yes,  yes — 

That  I  might  use  this  voice  men  call  so  grand, 
And  win,  with  her,  both  honor  and  success. 

"  Then  I  will  go— I  '11  fly  this  very  night  ! 

O  eyes  so  dear  !  O  lips  !  O  form  divine  ! 
O  ecstasy  of  bliss  !  surpassing  sweet 

The  hope  to  win  !  ye  must — ye  shall  be  mine  ! 


"  I  must  have  fainted  here,  and  lain  all  night 
Prone  at  the  sacred  feet  on  floor  of  stone, 

For  I  am  giddy  still — the  early  dawn 

Doth  barely  show  me  church,  silent  and  lone. 

"  This  is  a  holy  day  ;  the  faithful  soon 
Will  come  sins  to  confess  ;  I  must  within 

And  hear  the  weary  wrongs  of  souls,  and  then 
Absolve  them  from  their  heavy  yoke  of  sin. 

"  For  I  am  still  the  priest  !     Last  night  I  dreamed  ; 
Tho'  faint  and  spent,  tho'  pitifully  weak, 


POEMS,   DRAMATIC  AND  LYRIC. 

No  food  shall  pass  my  lips  this  day,  no  words 
Aught  save  my  sacred  office  bids  me  speak. 

"  This  kind  goeth  not  forth  except  men  fast 
And  pray  ;  then  hear  me  while  I  fast  and  pray, 

Absolving  me  from  sin.     I  will  not  leave 
These  sacred  walls  upon  this  holy  day. 

"  But  some  one  comes,  some  poor,  sin-stricken  soul, 
Who  through  the  early  dawn  doth  softly  steal, 

And  seeks  in  holy  church  confessional, 
On  penitential  stool  to  meekly  kneel. 

"  My  daughter,  what  is  this  you  would  confess — 
A  sinful  love  ?—  (O  heart,  be  still !)  And  he 

A  priest  you  say  ? — I  stifle  ! — help  me  breathe  ! 
A  priest  ?  Oh  no,  no,  no, — this  shall  not  be  ! 

"  This  is  a  mortal  sin,  pray  God, — I  can 

No  more — a  sudden  sickness  hath  come  o'er, — 

Go  !  daughter,  go  !  yet  stay  !  't  is  mortal  sin, 
Yet  tell  me  which,  which  priest,  I  do  implore  ! 


POEMS,   DRAMATIC  AND  LYRIC.  9 

"  Hush,  whisper  low  his  name,  Father  Anselmo, 
The  pale  and  holy  priest  of  God,  whose  voice 

Is  more  than  seraph-sweet,  whose  glorious  song 
Must  make  the  angels,  high  in  heaven,  rejoice. 

"  'T  is  she  !  my  love  ! — 't  is  she  !  Anselmo  I 

She  loves  me,  her  sweet  lips  have  breathed  it  low  ; 

I  think  my  heart-strings  break,  I  drink  her  breath, 
I  cannot  speak, — she  must,  in  silence,  go. 

"  I  hear  her  weeping — mercy  ! — mercy,  Christ  ! 

How  can  I  let  her  go  ?     One  word,  O  Lord, 
To  tell  my  love,  I  love  ; — one  little  word, — 

Then  take  my  heart  and  plunge  thy  flaming  sword  ! 

"  She  's  weeping  still  ! — Ha  ! — mercy,  mercy  ! 

O  my  love  ! — O  merciful  Heaven,  hear  ! 
Help,  help,  help  !  my  heart  is  dying,  O  Christ ! 

How  can  I  live  and  not  kiss  'way  that  tear  ? 

"  Weep  on,  weep  on,  my  heart  is  crucified, 

And   nailed   upon   the   cross,    stabbed    through   and 
through  ! 


io  POEMS,  DRAMATIC  AND  LYRIC. 

I  cannot  move,  I  am  a  priest  of  God, 

And  to  my  sacred  vows  I  will  be  true." 

****** 
'T  was  yet  scarce  day  when  in  the  church  came  chanting 

The  Orders  holy — no  other  soul  was  there  ; 
They,  later,  found  their  young  and  gifted  brother 

Anselmo,  dead  in  his  confessional  chair. 


DEMETRIUS. 


n 


DRAMATIS    PERSONS. 

PHILIP — The  Second  King  of  Macedonia. 
DEMETRIUS—  The  Crown-Prince. 
PERSES — Disinherited  son  of  the  king. 
PRINCESS  ZOE — Betrothed  to  Demetrius. 
The  GAOLER. 

TIME — In  the  reign  of  Philip  II.  of  Macedonia. 
SCENE — A  prison  with  a  couch  of  straw. 
COSTUME — Greek  dress  worn  by  royalty. 


12 


DEMETRIUS. 


DEMETRIUS — in  Prison. 

I  do  not  understand.     Why  am  I  here  ? 

A  prince  of  Macedonia  in  prison  thrust  ? 
Imperial  Rome  !  hath  she  a  hand  in  this  ? 

No — no — I  will  my  king  and  father  trust. 

He  loves  me  !     Why,  't  was  but  this  very  day 
I  felt  his  large  heart  beat,  and  saw  a  tear 

Race  down  his  cheek,  as  in  his  arms  I  lay 
Wrapped  in  a  close  embrace  ;  I  will  not  fear, 

But  sleep  in  peace.     Yet,  first  I  thank  thee,  gods, 
That  once  again  I  breathe  my  native  air, 

Once  more  have  felt  my  mother's  gentle  kiss, 
And  met,  once  more,  my  love  with  golden  hair. 
13 


14  POEMS,   DRAMATIC  AND  LYRIC. 

It  was  a  royal  greeting  they  gave  me, — 
My  kingly  sire  upon  his  throne  of  state — 

While  crowding  round,  in  sumptuous  attire, 
Were  Macedonia's  nobles,  and  her  great. 

Then  swore  I  knightly  troth  on  bended  knee, 
And  took  the  oath  of  fealty  to  the  crown  ; 

And  here  again  I  swear  I  will  be  true, 
And  live  for  country,  honor,  and  renown  ! 

This  is  my  dungeon  ;  let  me  for  the  night 
Feel  what  it  is  in  prison  low  to  lie  ; 

Should  I  become  a  king,  I  then  may  know, 
And  spare  unhappy  souls  brought  here  to  die. 

Yes,  I  will  rest  me  here  ;  this  couch  of  straw 
Shall  be  to  me  a  paradise  of  dreams  : 

My  Zoe,  I  will  fondly  think  of  thee, 

How  in  thine  eyes  the  holy  love-light  gleams. 

Ha  ! — hark,  that  grating  noise — See  !  in  the  lock 
The  rusty  key  slow  turns.     It  must  be  he, 


POEMS,   DRAMATIC  AND  LYRIC.  15 

My  father  and  my  king — he  loves  me  true, 
And  comes  at  last  to  set  Demetrius  free. 


[Enter  PERSES.] 

Thou  !  Perses  !     Thou  !  my  brother,  is  it  thou  ? 

Where  is  the  king  ?     Why  send  me  from  the  ranks  ? 
Our  royal  father  waits  ? — Come,  let  us  go — 

Thou  bringest  my  release  ?     Thanks,  Perses,  thanks. 

Why,  what  is  this  ?     You  wear  no  friendly  smile. 

Am  I,  the  prince,  a  prisoner  of  the  state  ? 
What  means  this,  brother  ?     Speak  !  and  let  me  know 

What  have  I  done  deserving  of  this  fate  ? 

You  tender  me  the  cup  ?    Ha  !  this  means  death  ! 

The  king  decrees  I  shall  drink  this  to-night  ? 
My  brother  !  are  you  mad  ?     I — the  prince, 

And  Macedonia's  heir  ? — Hear  I  aright  ? 

The  king,  my  father,  orders  me  to  die  ? 

'T  is  'gainst  all  nature  !     Perses,  with  me  bear, 


l6  POEMS,   DRAMA  TIC  AND  L  YRIC. 

For  I  am  dazed — my  poor  brain  reels — I  know 
Not  what  I  say — I — I  stifle — give  me  air  ! 

'T  is  passed  !     Hand  me  the  cup  !     This  weakness  ill 
Becomes  the  prince  Rome  taught  self  to  deny. 

The  king  decrees  ?     Enough  !     His  wish  is  law, 
Go  take  this  word  :  Demetrius  will  die. 

[Exit  PERSES.] 

He  's  gone  ! — I  am  alone  and  facing  death  : 

I  will  compose  myself,  kneel  here  and  pray. 
Farewell  to  all  this  world  holds  dear  to  me  ; 

0  king,  farewell,  thy  son  shall  well  obey. 

Now,  who  comes  here  in  this  my  last  sad  hour  ? 

Once  more  the  bolt  withdraws  !     Oh,  it  must  be, 
The  king  sends  a  reprieve  ! — I  live  ! — I  live  ! 

1  thank  thee,  God — 't  is  rapture  to  be  free  ! 

[Enter  PRINCESS  ZOE.] 

Almighty  powers  !     Zoe — thou,  love — thou  ? 
Or  is  my  brain  all  crazed,  and  I  behold 


POEMS,   DRAMATIC  AND  LYRIC.  1 7 

An  angel  in  my  prison  ?     Not  till  now 

Did  I  know  all  the  anguish  hearts  can  hold. 

O  love,  love,  love,  why  earnest  my  Zoe  here  ? 

Thou  knowest  I  must  die  ;  and  now  the  pain 
How  keen  !     To  see  thee — hold  thee — lose  thee — Zoe, 

My  heart  must  burst  with  this  last  cruel  strain  ! 

How  can  I  die — ye  gods — how  can  I  die  ? 

Go,  Zoe,  go  !  my  love,  for  dost  thou  stay, 
My  heart  pants  with  full  life,  and  I  forget 

Rome  taught  the  son  his  father  to  obey. 

What  's  this  my  Zoe  whispers  soft  and  low  ? 

"  Demetrius,  fly  !  O  fly  with  me,  my  own  ! 
For  I  must  die  if  thou  art  brought  to  death  ; 

I  cannot  live  and  meet  the  world  alone. 

"  The  gaoler  has  been  won  by  me  with  gold, 

Haste  !  haste  !  in  agony  of  soul,  I  pray, 
And,  on  my  knees,  beseech  thee  fly  with  me  ; 

Demetrius,  my  love,  haste,  haste  away." 


1 8  POEMS,   DRAMATIC  AND  LYRIC. 

Now  may  the  gods  on  high  give  me  the  strength 
Enchantment  to  resist.     This  is  mine  hour 

Of  mortal  anguish.     Zoe,  my  own,  my  sweet, 
Try  not  Demetrius  beyond  his  power. 

Wouldst  thou  have  me  betray  my  princely  word  ? 

I  promised  to  the  king  that  I  would  die  : 
But  then  !  just  Heaven  !  those  tears  burn  up  my  soul. 

'T  is  more  than  I  can  bear — I  yield — I  fly — 

The  road,  thou  say'st,  is  free  ?     Come,  Zoe,  come  ! 

How  sweet  thou  art,  how  beautiful  thine  eyes  ! 
O  never  breathed  a  truer  soul  than  thine, 

And  thou  art  mine  !     O  glory  fit  for  skies  ! 

But  halt !     My  heart  cease  thy  full  beat  of  life, 
And  stab  with  pain  no  more,  for  I  must  die  ; 

One  kiss,  my  own, — go  !  hide  those  tears  from  me, 
Lest  I  should  yield  again,  and  with  thee  fly. 

\She  snatches  the  cup  and  drinks .] 

O  Gods  !  stay,  Zoe,  stay  !  what  hast  thou  done  ! 
Drank  of  that  cup  ?     'T  is  poison  swift,  't  is  death — 


POEMS,   DRAMATIC  AND  LYRIC.  IQ 

Help  !  help  !  she  dies  !     O  gaoler,  she  is  gone  ! 
Didst  hear  ?  She  blessed  me  with  her  dying  breath. 

[Me  dies] 

Give  me  the  cup — where  pressed  she  her  sweet  lips  ? 

Show  me  the  spot,  and  on  my  knees  I  '11  drink — 
My  Zoe — angel ! — thou  hast  died  for  me, 

And  where  thou  goest  thy  lover  will  not  shrink. 

So — I  have  drained  the  very  last  dark  drop, 
And  fiery  serpents  in  my  veins  leap  high  : 

[.Enter  the  king.] 

Is  this  the  king  ?     Too  late — yet  this  is  joy  ! 
My  father,  on  thy  heart,  now  let  me  die. 


CHRIST  AND  THE  SOUL. 


Not  in  mine  own,  but  in  thy  strength,  O  Lord, 

Have  I  found  peace. 
The  fight  was  hard,  and  only  thou  dost  know 

How  hard — thou  ! 
Then  had  I  fainted,  vanquished  by  my  pain, 

When  came  release, 
And  once  more,  Lord,  I  freely  breathe  again, 

And  bare  my  brow 
Unto  my  life,  and  walk  with  upright  step. 

Thou  art  my  friend  : 
I  give  thee  smile  for  smile,  and  love  for  love. 

I  will  defend 
Thy  holy  cause,  here  on  our  earth  'mong  men  : 

For  me — defend 
My  weak  and  sinful  cause  high  up  in  heaven, 

Before  my  God, 

21 


22  POEMS,   DRAMA  TIC  AND  L  YRIC. 

And  say  :  "  She  fainted  ;  but  the  fight  was  hard, 

And  she  sore  pressed." 
Then  walk  beside  me  nearer  still,  O  Christ, 

And  I  am  blest. 


DECEIVED. 


It  died  hard,  this  love  of  mine  for  thee  ; 

'T  was  long  in  dying. 
It  took  strong  hands  to  break,  at  last,  the  stem 

Upon  which  grew 
The  flower  of  my  large  and  patient  love. 

Men  said  of  me  : 
"  This  woman  builds  a  castle  of  enchantment, 

In  which  she  keeps 
Her  friends,  where  they  may  walk  in  bright  attire, 

All  robed  in  virtues 
They  do  not  own, — but  her  imagination 

Hangs  about  them." 
They  said  this  thing  of  thee  :  "  You  think  him  good, 

Wholly  unselfish ; 
You  think  him  gentle,  merciful,  and  kind, 

A  very  prince, 
23 


24  POEMS,   DRAMATIC  AND  LYRIC. 

And  full  of  noble  gratitude,  and  far  above 

A  common  man." 
Then  smiled  we  both — they  only  in  derision, 

I — in  content 
And  firm  conviction  that  I  knew  the  man. 

I  knew  you  not. 
It  was  not  you  I  loved,  for  you  are  selfish, 

Hard,  and  cold, 
Implacable,  ungentle,  and  vindictive. 

I  love  you  not, 
And  yet — so  strong,  so  firm  was  my  affection, 

That,  as  I  said, 
My  love  died  hard — it  took  strong  hands  to  kill. 

It  now  lies  dead. 
And  you  are  still  yourself — 't  is  only  I 

Who  lose  the  friend, 
For  whom  I  built  so  fair  and  rich  a  castle. 

The  man  lived  not, 
Except  in  mine  own  mind,  begot  of  God. 


THE  WOMAN   HE   LOVES. 


Do  you  know  why  he  loves  this  woman 

Apart  from  all  the  rest  ? 
Because  of  the  strong,  deep  beauty 

Her  nature  is  possessed. 

Because  of  the  shining  soul 
That  smiles  from  out  her  eyes, 

And  the  power  of  Truth's  bright  glory 
That  on  her  forehead  lies. 

Because  deep  in  her  heart 

So  gentle  a  softness  lives, 
That  whomsoever  offends, 

She  still  loves  and  forgives. 

Because  light  as  a  feather 
She  takes  the  ills  of  life, 
25 


26  POEMS,    DRAMA  TIC  AND  L  YRIC. 

And  when  the  stab  must  come, 
She  hides  away  the  knife. 

Dipping  her  brush  in  sunshine, 
The  colors  only  choosing 

That  paint  life  fair  and  bright ; 
The  rest  her  soul  refusing. 

Because  of  her  bold  free  thought ; 

Unfettered  by  what  man  thinks, 
She  takes  the  chain  of  prejudice 

And  breaks  apart  the  links. 

Because  of  her  childlike  faith, 

Which  makes  her  strong  and  sure. 

Of  Heaven — believing  much, 
Then  much  she  can  endure. 

Because  at  the  purest  fountain 
Of  love  she  drinks  so  deep, 

That  she  gives  and  takes  unstinted 
The  treasures  others  keep. 


POEMS,   DRAMA  TIC  AND  L  YRIC.  2J 

Because  of  the  moral  grandeur 

Of  her  soul,  that  dares  to  be 
Itself,  above  man's  law, 

Godlike,  brave,  and  free. 

Because  her  words  and  actions 

Are  all  her  very  own, 
Not  taking  from  those  around  her 

Their  coloring  and  their  tone. 

You  know  now  why  he  loves  her, 

Exalted  above  the  rest, 
Why,  holding  fast  her  friendship, 

He  counts  himself  so  blest. 


SILENCE  AND  THE   SEA. 


SONG.1 

The  great  sea  rolls  between  us, 
And  silence  wide  and  deep, 
But  my  soul  unto  thine 
Its  faithful  troth  doth  keep. 
My  love  is  like  a  flower 
That  form  and  color  hideth, 
And  only  by  its  fragrance 
You  mark  where  it  abideth. 
The  night  wind  sighs  around  me, 
And  blends  its  undertone 
With  this  my  song  I  sing — 
I  sing  to  thee  alone. 
It  tells  thee  I  remember, 
It  whispers  thoughts  of  thee, 
Altho'  there  roll  between  us 
Deep  silence  and  the  sea. 

1  Set  to  music  by  the  author. 
28 


THY  LOVER. 

More  lovely  to  me  art  thou 

Than  rose  on  thy  breast, 
More  precious  to  him  who  loves, 

Than  gold  of  the  West. 

I  vow  I  cannot  discern 

'Twixt  heaven  and  thee, 
Since  lo  !  gazing  upward,  thine  eyes 

Are  all  that  I  see. 

I  cannot  tell  if  it  be  music 

Or  only  thy  laugh, 
Whether  thou  smilest — or  sun  shines 

On  my  behalf. 

Bloweth  the  south  wind  low, 

Or  is  it  thy  touch  ? 
29 


30  POEMS,   DRAMA  TIC  AND  L  YRIC. 

These  tokens  all  tell  thee,  my  sweet, 
I  love  thee  so  much. 


Did  I  pray,  or  was  it  thy  whisper 

Shaking  my  soul  ? 
Bringing  me  nearer  to  Heaven, 

And  under  control  ? 

Did  I  dream,  or  was  it  an  angel 

Leaving  the  skies  ? 
Who  borrowed  thy  lips  and  thy  hair, 

Who  borrowed  thine  eyes  ? 

O  I  love  thee,  I  love  thee  !    I  love 

By  night  and  by  day, 
And  had  I  a  thousand  more  tongues 

T  is  all  I  should  say. 


PRAYER. 


O  lift  me  out  of  self,  and  out  of  passion, 
Let  me  forget  to  be  at  war  with  good, 

And  like  to  them  above,  of  purer  fashion, 
The  great — serene — angelic  brotherhood. 

Am  I  cut  to  the  soul — misunderstood — 
Or  fretted  with  the  little  things  of  life, 

Which  daily  rise  a  countless  multitude, 
And  daily  cause  me  never  ending  strife  ? 

And  shall  I  grieve  when  wishes  vainly  perish, 
Or  battle  with  this  deeply  wounded  pride, 

With  all  the  wrong  it  would  in  secret  cherish, 
With  all  the  bitterness  it  seeks  to  hide  ? 

A  thousand  times  O  no  !  These  are  not  mine, 
But  thine,  O  Christ  !  Their  burden  killed, 


POEMS,   DRAMA  TIC  AND  L  YRIC. 

And  I  live  only  when  I  give  them  thee, 

And  with  thy  gracious  peace,  instead,  are  filled. 

A  peace  that  was  not  mine  by  right  of  birth, 

O  soul !  exchange  quick  with  thy  Lord  !  for  heaven 

He  gives  thee,  haste  !  give  thine  ills  of  earth, 
And  lightly  rise  with  this  thy  new  soul-leaven. 


I  HAVE  LET  IT  GO. 


The  dearest  hope  I  had, 

At  last,  I  've  let  it  go, 

I  would  not  hold  it  longer. 

My  trembling  hands  tho'  loth, 

Unloosed  their  loving  clasp, 
And  fate  becomes  the  stronger. 

I  loved  my  idol  so 

As  woman-love 

Knows  how  to  worship  ever. 

It  was  not  meant  that  I 

Should  keep  and  hold  this  love, 
And  so,  at  last,  I  sever 

Ties  that  bind  me  like 

The  sinews  of  my  heart, 

My  very  flesh  and  blood, 

33 


34  POEMS,   DRAMA  TIC  AND  L  YR1C. 

Part  of  myself,  almost 

My  very  life,  I  yield 
Because  I  know  I  should. 

And  so — I  've  let  it  go  ; 

And  now  what  shall  I  do 

To  keep  my  heart  from  breaking  ? 

Will  knowing  that  I  've  acted 

As  my  conscience  speaks 
Prevent  my  soul  from  aching  ? 

But  no  !  I  will  not  ask  ; 

Be  quiet,  trembling  hands, 
That  seek  to  clasp  again 

The  treasure  so  well  loved. 

It  may  be  Peace,  at  last, 
Shall  take  the  place  of  Pain. 


THE  SPANISH  MOTHER. 


35 


TIME — During  the  Inquisition  in  Spain. 

SCENE — In  a  dungeon. 

COSTUME — Spanish  dress  of  a  lady  of  high  degree. 


THE  SPANISH  MOTHER. 

At  last,  at  last,  O  Christ,  they  bring  me  here. 

Give  me  the  strength  to  triumph  o'er  my  fears  ; 
A  woman  weak  who  staggers — one,  whose  grief 

Has  burned  up  in  her  heart  and  eyes  all  tears. 

I  had  a  happy  home  where  there  was  peace, 
And  you — O  my  love — they  've  taken  you  ! 

In  heaven  only  shall  I  meet  again 
The  husband  God  gave  me,  so  brave  and  true. 

I  will  not  shrink — see  !  see  !  the  marks  are  here 
Of  their  hot  tongs  which  seare*d  my  poor  wrists. 

Their  dreadful  torture  lingers  in  my  brain, 
Of  how  the  heated  iron  burns  and  twists. 

No — no — I  will  not  faint,  but  kneel  down  here 
And  think  of  God  ;  perhaps,  in  spite  of  youth, 
37 


38  POEMS,   DRAMATIC  AND  LYRIC. 

I  may  be  firm — help  purify  his  Church, 

And  die,  if  needs  I  must,  for  God  and  truth. 


Can  I  forget  that  night,  when,  as  we  sat 

Close  side  by  side,  my  husband's  tender  smile 

Sank  in  my  heart,  and  low  he  spoke  the  words  : 
"  Be  strong,  my  own — 't  is  only  for  a  while." 

And  then  they  tore  him  from  my  clinging  arms, 
To  thrust  him  in  a  dungeon — tortured  him — 

0  God — O  God — I  think  I  hear  him  cry, 

As  on  that  dreadful  wheel  they  broke  each  limb  ! 

1  shall  go  mad  !  no,  no,  I  must  not  think, 

But  pray.     Give,  give  me  strength,  Almighty  God, 
That  I  may  feel  thine  everlasting  arms, 

That  I  may  humbly  kiss  thy  chastening  rod  ! 

And  then  my  child  !  Ha  ! — I— I — 

I  cannot  breathe  !  O  that  once  more  the  bliss 

Were  given  me  to  see  again  my  boy, 
And  press  upon  his  little  lips  one  kiss. 


POEMS,   DRAMATIC  AND  LYRIC.  39 

They  come  !  my  Judges.     Lo  !  they  come  ! 

I  hear  the  grating  key.     Now  help  me,  Lord  ! 
Give  me  the  power  that  I  resist  their  bribes, 

Let  me  defend  thy  pure  and  holy  word. 

[Enter  Child.} 

My  child  ! — my  sweetest,  sweetest  darling  child, 
Here,  here,  quick  on  my  heart,  my  precious  boy  ! 

0  happy  mother  that  I  may  again 

Kiss  thee  !  I  thank  them,  thank  them  for  this  joy  ! 

God  bless  them,  bless  their  kind  and  friendly  hearts 
That  they  give  me  my  child  back  to  my  arms. 

1  will  pray  for  their  souls  ;  my  prison  now 
Doth  lose  its  ghastly,  terrible  alarms. 

What  says  my  little  Carlos  ?     Speak,  my  boy : 
"  O  mother,  must  I  die  when  you  can  save  ? 

For  if  you  will  but  speak  and  tell  the  priests 
You  love  their  holy  church — I  will  be  brave 

"  And  they  will  set  us  free,  for  they  now  send 
Me  here  to  tell  you  this.     O  mother,  fly  ! 


4O  POEMS,   DRAMATIC  AND  LYRIC. 

*T  is  only  to  believe  as  they  believe — 

And  then  we  both  go  free  !     O  must  we  die  ? " 

0  God  !  mercy  ! — Christ  have  mercy — mercy — 
They  make  me  slay  my  child.     Hear  me  pray. 

1  am  not  strong  enough  for  this — my  lamb — 

Kiss  me  and  live.     My  child  I  cannot  slay. 

[Enter  Priests — The  Inquisitors^ 

They  come,  they  come,  see,  here  I  fall  and  kneel 
Before  you,  priests  of  God.     O  spare  my  child  ! 

Take  me — have  mercy  on  my  little  one — 
Take  me  before  my  sorrow  drives  me  wild. 

And  lead  me  to  the  stake  !  Here  are  my  hands — 
Quick  !  quick  !  but  spare  my  child,  O  spare  him 
priests  ! 

Slay,  slay  me  !  burn  me  !  tear  me  limb  from  limb, 
But  let  my  child  go  free.     What  !  are  ye  beasts 

That  would  kill  children  innocent  and  pure, 
And  mangle  their  soft  flesh  ?     O  listen  not 


THE  SPANISH  MOTHER.  4! 

To  my  wild  words,  but  spare  my  only  son, 

And  throw  me  to  the  flames  now  scorching  hot ! 

And  you  shall  see  I  will  not  make  a  cry, 
But  go  with  you  ;  my  spirit  shall  not  flinch. 

Ye  priests  of  God,  O  let  my  child  go  free, 
Take  me  and  let  the  fire  burn  inch  by  inch  ! 

They  drag  my  child  away  !  he  calls  his  mother  ! 

Oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  kind  priests — one  kiss, 
The  last,  last  kiss  before  my  child  is  gone  ! 

The  door  is  shut — open  !— open  ! — this — 

This  is  more  than  I  can  bear  !  my  baby  ! — O 
Almighty  God  !  they  '11  slay  my  child  ! 

And  I — I  might  have  saved  us  both,  one  word  ! 
But  then  ! — avaunt,  Satan  !  by  thee  beguiled, 

I  would  lose  my  own  soul,  and  meet  no  more 
My  sainted  ones  in  heaven.     O  Lord,  defend  ! 

O  God,  sustain  and  give  me  strength  that  I 
May  hold  the  truth  until  the  last  sad  end. 


I  POEMS,   DRAMA  TIC  AND  L  YRIC. 

What  's  this  ?  can  I  be  dying  ?  Ah  ! — my  heart — 
Be  with  thy  servant,  Lord  :  this  must  be  death  : 

I  thank  thee — husband  !  soon,  my  love,  we  meet  I 
My  God,  I  praise  thee  with  my  dying  breath. 


OH,  TO  BE  AT  REST. 


SONG.1 

Oh,  to  be  at  peace, 

Oh,  to  be  at  rest, 
Oh,  to  sleep  at  last, 

The  long  sleep  of  the  blest ! 

Oh,  to  cease  to  weep, 
Oh,  to  cease  the  strife, 

Oh,  to  leave  the  weariness 
Of  what  we  know  of  life  ! 

Oh,  to  leave  the  tear, 
Oh,  to  leave  the  sigh, 

Oh,  to  wish  no  more 
Only  the  wish  to  die  ! 

1  Set  to  music  by  the  author. 
43 


44  POEMS,   DRAMA  TIC  AND  L  YRIC. 

The  aching  heart  at  peace, 
The  weary  brain  at  rest, 

The  tired  hands  but  folded 
Over  the  empty  breast. 


Away  ! — only  away  ! 

Beholding  God's  dear  face, 
With  nothing  but  great  peace, 

And  everlasting  grace. 


MEMORY'S  PICTURE. 

My  love  came  through  the  door,  and  lo  ! 

Her  very  form  and  face, 
So  purely  simple,  seemed  to  glow 

With  new,  peculiar  grace. 

Her  dress  was  black,  and  made  of  gauze, 
Which  veiled  but  did  not  hide 

Her  perfect  arms,  so  softly  white, 
They  with  the  lily  vied. 

The  crimson  flowers  at  her  throat 

Were  all  the  jewels  worn, 
Except  her  eyes,  which  shone  above 

With  light  that  was  love-born. 

She  held  within  her  graceful  hands 
Her  hat,  which,  hanging  down, 
45 


46  POEMS,   DRAMATIC  AND  LYRIC. 

Broke  with  its  strings  of  ribbon  bright 
The  dead  black  of  her  gown. 

She  was  a  picture  standing  there, 
Altho*  she  did  not  know  it, 

My  love,  with  earnest,  truthful  brow, 
My  dreamer  and  my  poet. 

I  would  have  fallen  at  her  feet, 
I  could  have  worshipped  there, 

So  graceful  in  her  flowing  robes, 
But  that  I  did  not  dare. 

I  in  my  very  soul  and  heart, 

Would  paint  her  if  I  could, 
As  coming  through  the  door  that  night 
We  saw  her  as  she  stood. 


FORGIVENESS. 


Because  it  is  divine 

To  know  how  to  forgive, 

I  '11  be  divine, 

And  wipe  from  out  my  troubled  heart 
The  memory  of  this  sin  of  thine. 

Ah,  yes  !  I  will  forgive — 

But  not  of  thy  deserving  ; 
Thou  deservest  nought, 
Except  that  I  should  hate  this  wrong 
To  me  and  mine,  that  thou  hast  wrought. 

I  will  forgive  as  I 

Hope  one  day  to  be  forgiven, 

And  put  away 

This  human  ache  to  hate  thee  most 
Intensely.     I  will  forgive  and  pray. 
47 


FIRST  LOVE. 


0  holy  love  !  O  beautiful  and  sacred 
Love.     The  evening  shadows  stealing  out 
To  sea,  or  night-bloom  of  the  skies,  fall  not 
More  softly,  than  the  breath  of  a  first  and  holy 
Love  upon  the  young  and  trembling  heart. 
Unconscious  first — 

Then  as  a  dream,  and  then — 

The  great  awakening  !  O  moments  fleeting  !  O  hour 
That  cannot  stay  !  O  youth  !  O  love  !  O  soul  ! 
Never  again  to  be  the  same  !  Hast  thou 
Laid  this  thy  gift,  thy  gift  unspeakable, 
Here  at  my  feet  ?     For  this,  O  friend,  I  thank  thee. 
Thou  crown'st  me  queen,  indeed  ;  I  am  more  fair 
Because  I  wear  the  jewel  of  thy  first  love. 

1  will  arise  and  purify  myself, 

Will  kneel  and  say  unto  my  God  :  "  My  Father, 

48 


POEMS,   DRAMA  TIC  AND  L  YRIC. 


49 


Hold,  hold  me  closer  to  thy  heart,  for  I 
Would  learn  of  thee,  how  I  may  meet  and  keep 
This  noble  treasure  of  a  first,  great  love." 
And  then  into  the  quiet  keeping  of  a 
Mighty  trust,  I  will  exalt,  and  place 
This  priceless  gift  forever  and  forever. 


THE  INTERPRETER  OF  SONG. 


He  stands  composed  before  them  all, 

With  grave,  and  serious  air, 
A  deep  light  burning  in  his  eyes, 

The  young  face  calm  and  fair. 
His  hands  are  clasped  as  if  in  prayer, 

His  chest  is  broadly  thrown, 
The  head  is  raised  with  dignity, 

As  if  it  wore  a  crown  ! 
Then  part  the  lips  in  richest  song, 

And  majesty  of  tone  ; 
He  sings  as  if  the  melody 

Were  all  his  very  own. 
His  soul  is  seeking  for  the  truth, 

His  voice  with  passion  rings  ; 
He  thinks  not  of  himself,  but  stands 

Creating  as  he  sings. 
50 


POEMS,  DRAMATIC  AN£>  LYRIC. 

O  glory  of  a  life  that  can 

So  nobly  hearts  allure, 
And  win  them,  through  the  charm  of  song, 

To  love  the  grand  and  pure. 


IF  I  MAY. 


PART    FIRST. 

I  will  not  take  the  joy  which  brings  a  sorrow, 
If  I  may, 
Put  both  away. 

I  will  not  learn  to  love  a  smile,  a  voice, 
If  glance  and  tone, 
Once  mine  alone, 
Shall  in  some  hour  lose  all  their  strongest  power. 

I  will  not  choose  that  in  my  life  may  come 

The  deep  unrest, 

Tho'  it  were  blest 
With  joy  ;  for  I  would  wish  my  soul  should  be 

As  if  asleep, 

If  God  will  keep 
Me  safe  within  his  holy  arms,  and  let 

Me  never  know 
52 


POEMS,   DRAMATIC  AND  LVRlC.  53 

The  bitter  woe 
Of  what  it  means  to  say — "  /  must  for  get. % 

PART    SECOND. 

Yes  !  I  will  welcome  all,  nor  will  refuse, 

Or  joy,  or  pain, 

If  I  may  gain, 
Through  all  the  changing  light  and  deepening  shade, 

One  step  nearer, 

One  hope  dearer, 
That  out  of  all  my  soul  may  rise  the  purer, 

And  find  the  path, 

Which  ever  hath 
Brought  them,  who  suffer,  on  their  way  the  surer. 

Yes — give  me  all  that  I  may  be  the  richer, 

And  may  know 

Both  joy  and  woe 
Shall  only  weave  for  me  that  brighter  dress, 

Which  I  shall  wear, 

When  I  may  bear, 
Of  God's  own  image,  the  divine  impress. 


THIS   WOULD  I  DO. 


If  I  were  a  rose, 

This  would  I  do  : 

I  would  lie  upon  the  white  neck  of  her  I  love, 
And  let  my  life  go  out  upon  the  fragrance 

Of  her  breath. 

If  I  were  a  star, 

This  would  I  do  : 

I  would  look  deep  down  into  her  eyes, 
Into  the  eyes  I  love,  and  learn  there 

How  to  shine. 

If  I  were  a  truth  strong  as  the  Eternal  One, 

This  would  I  do  : 

I  would  live  in  her  heart,  in  the  heart 
I  know  so  well,  and 

Be  at  home. 
54 


JP02MS,   DRAMATIC  AND  LYRIC. 

If  I  were  a  sin, 

This  would  I  do  : 

I  would  fly  far  away,  and  tho'  her  soft  hand 
In  pity  were  stretched  out,  I  would  not  stay,  but  fly, 

And  leave  her  pure  ! 


PROUD  ANGUISH. 


Take  away  your  hand 

From  my  life, 
Turn  aside  !  and  so — 

Come  no  more  ! 
You  may  go,  and  leave  me 

To  hide 
The  heart  you  have  bruised 

To  the  core. 
Take  from  me  the  sweet 

Cruel  eyes, 
Take  also  the  touch 

That  can  thrill. 
Go  ! — leave  me  my  life, 

Only  leave  me, 
Before  the  whole  woman 

You  kill. 
56 


POEMS,   DRAMATIC  AND  LYRIC.  $} 

You  dared  to  look  into 

Too  closely 
The  innermost  shrine 

Of  my  soul ; 
You  entered  the 

"  Holy  of  Holies  " 
Not  wearing  the 

High-priestly  stole. 
You  felt  not  some  places 

Are  sacred, 
Your  shoes  you  still  kept 

On  your  feet, 
While  Moses  came  walking 

Unsandaled, 
The  burning-unburned 

Bush  to  meet. 

But  you  !  you  trod 

On  my  heart ; 
Your  hands  were  rough 

And  were  bold, 
You  gave  me  the  dross 


$8  POEMS,  DRAMATIC  AND 

Of  your  nature, 
While  I  gave  you  nothing 

But  gold. 
Pass  on  !  only  leave  me 

To  silence, 
That  I  may  recover 

My  breath, 
Awhile ere  I  go  to 

My  grave, 
Forgiving  you  only 

In  death. 


CLAUDIA. 


An  Historic  Incident  in  the  Life  of  the  last  of  the  Claudii. 

On  sterile  shore  of  some  lone  sea, 

Whose  walls  of  granite  rock, 
For  ages  fretted  carelessly, 

The  wild  waves  seemed  to  mock. 
Where  cold  and  bleak  the  night  wind  blew, 

And  sea-gull  hoarsely  screamed, 
And  deeper  still  the  shadows  grew, 

And  whiter  the  wave-crest  gleamed. 
'T  was  there  they  laid  the  infant  down 

Upon  its  cold,  hard  bed, 
Banished  by  her  own  father's  frown, 

Who  wished  the  child  were  dead. 
Rome's  emperor  he — a  Claudii, 

Detested  as  a  race, 
59 


60  POEMS,   DRAMATIC  AND  LYRIC. 

Now  doomed  his  infant  child  to  die, 

Its  mother  to  disgrace. 
Urgalania  she — who  once  as  queen 

Had  sat  on  Caesar's  throne, 
Now  driven  forth  with  frantic  spleen, 

To  wander  all  alone. 
They  tore  the  babe  from  out  her  arms, 

They  drove  her  from  the  city, 
And  Rome,  once  proud  of  all  her  charms, 

Now  had  for  her  no  pity. 
Polybius  bore  the  sleeping  child 

Unto  the  lonely  sea, 
Its  innocence  almost  beguiled 

So  hard  a  man  as  he. 
But  Pallas,  colder  than  the  rocks, 

Marched  swiftly  by  his  side, 
The  pity  shown  he  sternly  mocks 

Polybius  fain  would  hide. 
And  as  they  neared  the  fatal  shore, 

All  desolate  and  wild, 
Amid  the  ocean's  ceaseless  roar, 

They  stripped  the  lovely  child. 


POEMS,   DRAMATIC  AND  LYRIC.  6 1 

And,  naked,  left  it  there  to  die 

Upon  the  cold  hard  stone, 
Beneath  a  wild  tempestuous  sky, 

Unheeded  and  alone. 
They  turned  them  from  the  cruel  spot, 

They  strode  in  haste  away  ; 
Imperial  Rome  they  once  more  sought ; 

The  babe  unnoticed  lay. 
A  princess  born — of  lofty  line, 

The  infant  Claudia — she 
Whose  royal  birth  had  been  the  sign 

Of  joy  and  revelry. 
The  heavy  night  came  closely  down, 

The  crested  waves  leapt  high, 
The  ocean's  roar  could  scarcely  drown 

That  feeble  wailing  cry. 
And  hours  long  this  piteous  moan 

Pierced  the  midnight  air, 
But  hushed  at  last  the  sobbing  tone 

When  morning  dawned  fair. 
As  wide  and  bright  o'er  land  and  sea, 

Rushed  up  the  radiant  sun, 


62  POEMS,   DRAMA  TIC  AND  L  YRIC. 

And,  meeting  death  thus  smilingly, 

There  lay  the  little  one. 
A  marble  statue  full  of  grace, 

Colder  than  its  bed, 
A  smile  of  peace  upon  its  face, 

It  scarcely  seemed  dead. 
The  glittering  sunbeams  lingered  there 

To  paint  it  with  a  blush, 
And  kissing  lips,  and  brow,  and  hair, 

Left  over  all  a  hush. 


But  who  is  this  with  haggard  face, 

With  wild  and  frantic  air, 
Searching  in  this  lonely  place 

For  something  she  's  lost  there  ? 
'T  is  Urgalania,  the  mother — she 

Once  Rome's  imperial  queen  ! 
And  wife  of  Claudius — he 

Of  dark  and  hideous  mien. 
She  saw  the  babe  upon  the  ground, 

She  dashed  upon  her  knees, 


CLAUDIA.  63 

With  gasping  and  half-choking  sound 

The  child  she  fain  would  seize. 
She  clasped  the  cold  form  to  her  breast, 

She  chafed  both  hands  and  feet, 
With  eager  lips  she  fondly  pressed 

The  limbs,  to  her,  so  sweet. 
But  all  in  vain — all,  all  in  vain, 

The  little  life  had  fled, 
And  piercing  to  her  maddened  brain 

The  thought  came,  it  was  dead. 
She  fell  upon  her  knees  once  more, 

She  raised  her  hands  on  high, 
She  cursed  all  Rome,  from  shore  to  shore, 

She  cursed  the  Claudii. 
Then,  springing  up  with  sudden  start, 

As  if  again  to  flee, 
She  laid  the  child  close  on  her  heart, 

And  leaped  into  the  sea ! 


WHOSE  SIN  ? 


SCENE — The  bedroom  of  a  young  girl.     A  coffin  covered 
with  flowers. 

COSTUMES — That  of  an  old  man,  gray  hair  and  beard. 


66 


WHOSE  SIN  ? 


Here  leave  me  with  my  dead,  I  thank  you  all, 

You  have  been  kind  since  my  deep  trouble  came  ; 

But  yet  of  her  now  lying  cold  in  death, 

To  you  her  memory  will  be  linked  with  shame. 

So  I  would  be  alone.     .     .     .     You  have  done  well, 
And  made  my  child  look  fair,  with  leaf  and  flower. 

Perhaps  you  shed  some  tears,  yet  in  your  minds 
A  scornful  thought  against  my  child  will  lower. 

Yet,  once  again,  I  thank  you — leave  me  now. 

Thank  God  !  they  've  gone.     Am  I  in  truth  alone  ? 
I  may  kneel,  now,  and  ask  that  for  her  sin, 

The  loving  Saviour's  blood  will  sure  atone. 

Yes  !  I  will  kneel  and  lay  my  gray  head  down 
Beside  the  fairest  face  that  ever  smiled  ; 
67 


68  POEMS,   DRAMATIC  AND  LYRIC. 

So  like  her  mother — she  had  the  same  blue  eyes, 
The  same  soft  hair,  and  brow  so  calm  and  mild. 

Oh  !  well  I  do  recall  her  wedding  night, 

How  sweet,  how  like  a  fairy — no  thought  of  fear, 

She  came  down  from  this  room  in  this  same  dress 
She  now  wears  lying  in  her  coffin  drear. 

She  blushed  and  smiled  and  hung  around  my  neck ; 

"  Oh  !  how  you  '11  miss  me,  "father,"  whispered  she, 
"  For  all  our  lives  together  we  have  been, 

And  oh  !  you  've  been  so  good,  so  kind  to  me." 

And  then  they  told  her  it  was  time  to  go  ; 

It  seemed  as  tho'  I  must  forever  kiss  her. 
"Be  good  to  this  dear  child,"  I  said  to  him, 

"  For  oh  !  my  poor  old  heart  will  sorely  miss  her." 

Her  husband — damn  him!  curse  him! — broke  her  heart — 
He  broke  my  child's  poor  heart — he  struck  her  hands 
Which  she  held  up  before  him,  weeping  sore  ; 
He  had  no  pity,  but  mocked  at  her  demands. 


POEMS,   DRAMA  TIC  AND  L  YRIC.  69 

'T  was  then  she  asked  the  man  of  God  to  pray, 
For  she  had  summoned  us  to  hear  her  tale, 

Her  husband,  father,  priest,  on  her  poor  knees 
She  crouched  before  us  trembling,  wan  and  pale. 

"  Father,"  she  cried,  "  my  father,  plead  for  me, 
Husband,  look  not  so  stern,  but  hear  me  speak ; 

I  know  that  I  have  sinned,  I  've  wronged  you  all, 
I  ask  for  pardon  ;  husband,  I  was  weak. 

"  You  left  me  all  alone  ;  I  was  so  young  ; 

My  heart  craved  love  ;  you  did  not  see  : 
Temptation  came,  you  did  not  seem  to  care  ; 

And  so  I  fell — ah  !  husband,  pity  me  ! 

"  For  I  repent — O  God  !  I  do  repent ! 

Say,  say  you  can  forgive  me  ;  pray  for  me,  pray  ! 
Ah  !  what  is  this  ?     My  heart  has  stopped  its  beats  ; 

Perhaps  kind  death  may  take  this  pain  away." 

Then — as  she  held  her  poor  beseeching  hands 
Up  to  her  husband,  and  so  ceased  to  speak, 


7O  POEMS,    DRAMATIC  AND  LYRIC. 

But  hung  upon  his  face  to  read  forgiveness, 
With  panting,  bated  breath  and  pallid  cheek — 

He  struck  her  down  !     Ha  !  I  must  have  air  ! — 
Devil !  beast  !     Why  I  will  kill  him  yet ! — 

He  left  her  days  alone  ;  did  he  not  see 

Her  heart  was  growing  hard  at  his  neglect  ? 

She  was  so  young,  so  used  to  being  loved, 

Her  husband — iron-stern — soon  seemed  to  think 

She  had  no  claim  on  him.  Alas  !  neglect 
Drove  her,  at  last,  beyond  the  fatal  brink, 

And  then  she  made  confession — tender  soul, 
And  sinking  'neath  his  blow,  fell  on  her  face. 

I  caught  her  to  my  heart,  and  let  him  go  ; 
I  loved  my  lamb  the  more  in  her  disgrace. 

'T  was  long  ere  she  revived  ;  but  when  once  more 
The  life-blood  blushed  upon  her  lovely  cheek, 

I  held  her  to  my  heart,  I  stroked  her  hair  ; 

She  pressed  her  lips  to  mine,  but  did  not  speak. 


WHOSE  SIN?  fl 

Then  slipping  from  my  arms  she  came  up  here ; 

This  was  her  room  before  her  mother  died, 
And  after  she  was  gone  I  kept  it  so, 

Exactly  as  she  left  it,  happy  bride. 

It  was  not  very  long,  I  heard  a  sound — 

A  fatal  sound — I  knew  it  well. — With  speed 

I  flew  up  to  my  darling's  room — too  late  ! 
O  God,  forgive  my  precious  child  this  deed  ! 

See  had  put  on  this  dress  she  lies  in  now — 
Her  bridal  robe,  with  roses  in  her  hair  ; 

She  looked  as  she  had  looked  her  wedding  night, 
So  young,  so  sweet,  so  sad,  so  still,  and  fair, 

With  that  death-wound  straight  through  her  broken 

heart. 

She  left  me  all  alone — how  can  I  live  ? 
Ha  !  all  grows  dark — can  this,  can  this  be  death  ? 
O  God,  forgive  my  child — forgive,  forgive  ! 


72  POEMS,   DRAMATIC  AND  LYRIC. 

They  found  him  kneeling  by  his  daughter's  bier, 
His  gray  hair  straggling  o'er  her  poor  face  ; 

Both  wore  the  still  cold  smile  of  death  ; 
Both  went  away  to  seek  God's  loving  grace. 


GREETING. 


Dear  love,  we  come  in  memory  of  your  birth, 
Your  wife,  your  children,  and  these  your  friends, 

To  keep  the  feast  with  sweet  and  lively  mirth, 
In  gratitude  to  Him  who  birthdays  sends. 

We  know  your  deeds  of  loving  kindness  well, 
We  know  you  have  a  heart  that  strong  doth  feel 

The  beauty  of  that  Gospel  which  you  tell 

To  us  who,  in  the  sanctuary,  round  you  kneel. 

We  know  the  little  children  on  the  street 

Wave  you  sweet  kisses  with  their  dimpled  hands, 

And  smiles  of  innocence  and  love  do  greet 

You  on  all  sides  from  these  gay  childish  hands. 

We  know  the  sick  and  lonely  long  to  hear 
The  words  of  sympathy  and  lowly  prayer 
73 


74  POEMS,   DRAMA  TIC  AND  L  YRIC. 

You  bring  to  dying  bedsides,  dispelling  fear, 
And  teaching  them  the  loving  Father's  care. 

We  know  the  Poor  who  shiver  without  wood, 
Who  see  their  children  starving,  come  to  you, 

Relying  on  your  power  to  give  them  food, 
Because  you  act  your  Gospel,  pure  and  true. 

We  know  the  doubting  Thomas  doth  also  come, 
And  feareth  not  that  you  hold  up  the  rod, 

He  knows  your  modest  faith,  tho'  it  be  dumb 
In  argument,  clings  closely  to  your  God. 

And  now  who  knows  so  well  your  silent  worth 
As  she,  your  wife,  who  here,  with  grateful  pride, 

Calls  in  your  friends,  rejoicing  that  your  birth 
Gave  her  the  honor  to  be  your  chosen  bride  ! 


I  HOLD  MY  HEART  SO  STILL. 

SONG.1 

I  know  that  thou  art  God, 
I  hold  my  heart  so  still, 

And  say,  between  my  tears, 
I  yield  me  to  thy  will. 

My  sins,  I  know,  are  many, 
I  feel  how  weak  I  am, 

0  Saviour  !  give  to  me, 

0  give  thy  blessed  calm  ! 

1  do  not  wish  to  murmur, 

1  hold  me  fast  and  still, 

I  only  ask  to  hide  my  tears, 
And  know,  O  God,  thy  will. 

1  Set  to  music  by  the  author. 


75 


A  SIMPLE  BALLAD. 


Before  her  father's  cottage  door, 

The  children  often  played, 
Her  eyes  were  blue,  but  his  were  black, 

And  he  loved  the  little  maid. 

She  grew  in  all  her  beauty  wild, 
And  sweetly  could  she  sing  : 

The  people  said,  the  world  some  day 
Would  with  her  praises  ring. 

They  bade  her  kiss  the  neighbor-boy 

And  say  a  long  farewell ; 
They  carried  her  o'er  hills  away, 

But  still  he  loved  her  well. 

t 

The  summers  came,  the  summers  went, 
The  winters  brought  their  snow, 
76 


PO£MS,  DRAMATIC  AND  LYRIC.  77 

When  forth  to  find  the  little  maid, 
The  neighbor-boy  would  go. 

His  knapsack  on  his  shoulder, 

His  love  deep  in  his  heart, 
His  black  eyes  glistening  with  the  joy 

He  felt,  at  last,  to  start. 

He  came  into  a  city  great, 

He  heard  her  sing  again, 
She  wore  a  dress  of  satin  white, 

And  roses  looped  her  train. 

He  stood  without,  the  crowd  was  great, 

To  see  the  Prima  Donna, 
Beside  her  came  a  plumed  knight, 

Who  bore  the  cross  of  honor. 

She  smiled  with  her  eyes  of  blue 

Into  his  eyes  of  black, 
But  knew  him  not  and  passed  him  by, 

A  peasant  with  knapsack  ! 


POEMS,   DRAMATIC  AND  LYRIC. 

The  night  was  dark,  the  night  was  wild, 
The  stars  shone  cold  and  clear, 

He  wandered  with  his  broken  heart 
Off  to  mountains  drear. 

He  sat  him  down  he  cared  not  where, 

So  cold  was  he  and  weary  ; 
He  fell  asleep  and  dreamed  a  dream, 

So  bright  it  was  and  cheery. 

The  little  maid  and  he  together 
In  church  knelt  side  by  side  ; 

He  was  the  happy  bridegroom  gay, 
And  she  the  joyous  bride. 

She  wore  a  dress  of  satin  white, 

And  roses  looped  her  train  ; 
The  organ  rolled  and  upward  bore 

Its  glorious  refrain. 

And  then  he  woke — the  mountains  drear 
Rose  up  against  the  sky, 


POEMS,   DRAMA  TIC  AND  L  YRlC. 

The  night-wind  pierced  him  to  the  soul, 
And  bore  away  his  cry  : 

"  O  let  me  dream  this  dream  again, 
This  heavenly  dream  once  more." 

And,  smiling  with  his  icy  lips, 
He  dreamed  just  as  before. 

The  snow  came  whirling  down  and  down, 

The  everlasting  hills 
Stood  round  about  the  neighbor-boy, 

While  icy  darkness  fills 

The  air  and  sky.     But  never  more 
The  neighbor-boy  would  wake  ; 

He  sleepeth  well,  and  still  the  heart 
That  broke  for  her  dear  sake. 


YOU  AND  I. 


Friend  !  when  you  felt  the  baleful  ecstasy  of  power 

To  make  me  feel, 
Why  took  you  then  my  heart,  to  use  it  as  a  stone 

To  sharpen  steel  ? 
You  saw  I  was  much  moved  at  all  you  felt  and  said, 

And  ever  since 
It  is  with  no  fine  sparing  hand  you  wield  the  knife, 

And  see  me  wince 
Beneath  the  glittering  blade.     Is  this  noble  in  you  ? 

Is  this  a  friend  ? 
To  be  so  stern,  so  hard  ;  to  take  a  fault  that  *s  mine, 

And  not  defend, 
But  strip  my  woman's  pride,  which  is  a  bridal  veil, 

Unpitying  take 
My  sin  and  bear  it  quivering  'neath  your  ruthless  eyes, 

And  coldly  make 

80 


POEMS,   DRAMATIC  AND  LYRIC.  Si 

Me  say  "  'T  is  mine."     To  you  I  would  not,  if  I  could, 

Ungentle  be. 
Your  fault  I  'd  take,  and  fathoms  deep  would  hide  it 

From  the  world  and  me  ! 


DOVE  OF  PEACE. 


SONG.1 

I  would  that  the  dove  of  Peace 

Might  find  her  home  in  my  breast, 
And,  folding  her  gentle  wings, 

Might  make  of  my  heart  her  nest. 
I  would  that  I  might  not  hear 

The  complaining  voice  of  my  soul, 
Nor  the  thunder  of  the  deep  waters, 

As  wave  upon  wave  doth  roll. 
I  would  that  my  feet  might  walk 

On  the  road  that  leadeth  higher, 
Instead  of  standing  and  sinking 

Low  down  in  the  cruel  mire. 
O  God  of  my  life  !  come  to  me, 

And  bless  thy  weary  child  ! 
In  the  palm  of  thine  hand,  O  hide  me, 

Quiet  and  reconciled  ! 

1  Set  to  music  by  the  author. 
82 


THE  FLOWER-COQUETTE. 


Do'st  see  this  dainty  flower  ? 

Within  her  fragrant  cup 
She  lured  a  ray  of  sun-gold, 

And  fairly  used  him  up. 
She  held  him  fast  a  prisoner, 

Made  of  herself  a  prism, 
Dividing  all  his  colors, 

Anointed  with  holy  chrism 
Each  charming  velvet  petal. 

Was  not  she  cunning,  though, 
To  steal  his  colors  and  paint  herself 

A  dainty  flower  rainbow  ? 


IN  THE  WOODS. 


Come  not  with  me,  but  let  me  go  alone, 

Into  the  woods  to-day  ; 
Not  one  of  you  I  want,  but  undertone 

Of  what  the  hills  may  say. 
No  voice  I  wish  to  hear,  except  the  bird, 

Or  breathings  of  the  grass, 
Or  whispering  leaves  by  wind  so  gently  stirred, 

As  'neath  I  pass. 

The  pulsing  of  the  sinless  hearts  around, 

Of  insect,  tree,  or  flower, 
Or  microscopic  moss  upon  the  ground, 

Which  lives  its  little  hour, 
Is  all  the  sympathy  I  wish  to-day ; 

For  friends,  the  grand  old  trees 
84 


POEMS,   DRAMATIC  AND  LYRIC.  85 

Shall  help  me  lift  my  silent  soul  to  pray 
With  Nature  on  her  knees. 


No  touch  I  want,  except  upon  the  palm 

The  velvet  leaf  to  feel  ; 
No  kiss  besides  the  air  so  still  and  calm, 

While  there  I  '11  kneel. 
No  eyes  to  look  in  mine,  except  the  light 

Of  heaven's  own  tender  blue, 
That  offers  me  an  everlasting  flight 

To  find  the  good  and  true. 

No  !  I  would  be  alone  and  would  commune 

With  Nature's  spirit  only. 
To-day  the  world  and  I  are  not  in  tune, 

My  heart  is  sad  and  lonely. 
Not  one  of  you  I  want,  my  spirit's  need 

Must  search  the  distant  wood, 
And  there,  away  in  solitude,  shall  feed 

Upon  its  highest  good. 


I  ONLY  WAIT. 


Wait  !  give  me  time, — I  cannot  breathe 

When  I  begin  this  tale  ; 
My  trembling  lips  can  scarcely  wreathe 

The  words  of  bitter  wail. 

You  were  the  very  last  to  cheer 

As  we  sailed  out  to  sea  ; 
Remember  you  the  children  near, 

The  youngest  on  my  knee  ? 

'T  was  I  who  turned  and  answered  then, 

Unthinking,  to  the  cry 
Of  mother  !  mother  ! — O  my  God, 

When  may  I  also  die  ! 

But  I  must  on.     For  one  whole  week 

We  sailed  without  a  frown 
86 


POEMS,  DRAMATIC  AND  LYRIC.  87 

Upon  the  sky,  nor  did  we  reek 
That  ships  went  sometimes  down. 

Alas  !  how  can  I  tell  you  this  ? 

Did  you  not  read  ?     You  know 
Of  that  wild  night  ? — O  God  !  the  hiss 

Of  storm  above — below  ! 

Again  I  live  it  through  !  feel  yet 

The  horror  of  that  hour, 
When  dumb  with  fright,  in  cold  and  wet, 

We  felt  the  dread  storm-power  ! 

Amid  the  screams  of  mad  despair, 

An  angel-voice  arose. 
It  was  my  child,  my  little  Clare, 

Full  of  high  repose. 

"  Mother,"  she  said,  "  can  no  one  here 

Pray  God  to  still  the  storm  ? 
You  've  always  taught  us  He  is  near 

To  shield  us  from  all  harm." 


88  POEMS,   DRAMATIC  AND  LYRIC. 

My  lamb  !  my  blessed  lamb  !     No  more  ! 

No  time  to  say  the  rest, 
There  came  a  greater  wave  which  tore 

The  darlings  from  my  breast. 

Spare  me — spare  me — all  were  lost, 

Deep  buried  in  the  sea, 
Among  the  souls  thus  tempest-tossed, 

The  Father  left  but  me. 

I  went,  with  all  my  children  sweet, 

Up  to  the  Golden  Gate, 
To  enter  there  I  was  not  meet, 

So  now — /  only  wait. 


FLOWERS. 


O  flowers,  flowers,  flowers,  flowers  ! 

Come  cover  me  quick  all  over  ! 
Bury  me  in  your  dainty  bloom, 
Drown  me  in  your  sweet  perfume, 

For  am  I  not  your  lover  ? 
Delicate  leaf,  and  tender  color, 

Beautiful  shapes  so  airy, 
Blue  and  gold,  and  rose  and  green, 
Of  velvet  soft,  with  glossy  sheen, 

Fit  home  for  variest  fairy  ! 

Your  beauty  links  me,  lovely  ones, 

To  higher  heavenly  powers  ; 
Ye  are  my  thoughts,  my  wishes — ye 
My  songs,  my  poems,  all  I  see 

Made  visible  in  flowers. 
89 


90  POEMS,   DRAMATIC  AND  LYRIC. 

Then  come,  O  come,  ye  sweetest  things, 

And  cover  me  up  in  bloom  ; 
Bury  me  in  your  green  and  gold, 
Kiss  me  quick  ye  colors  bold, 
And  drown  me  in  perfume  ! 


ALAS! 


'T  were  better  had  they  death  between, 
Or  better  each  had  never  seen 
How  close  their  two  lives  might  have  been, 
Than  ended  so. 


YOU  WOKE  ME. 


SONG.1 

You  woke  me  to  music  and  poetry, 

I,  you  to  religion  and  love  ; 
Enough  !     Go  your  way  and  I  mine, 

We  meet  in  the  heavens  above. 

You  were  both  noble  and  true, 

You  gave  me  your  heart's  purest  love, 

And  yet  ! — go  your  way  and  I  mine, 
We  meet  in  the  heavens  above. 
1  Set  to  music  by  the  author. 


92 


KNOWN  UNTO  GOD.1 


See  !  yonder  stately  lordly  spire, 

Searching  through  the  sky  ; 
Which  crowns — as  flame  reveals  the  fire, 

Cathedral  towering  high. 
Majestic  in  its  grand  outline, 

Symmetrical  in  form, 
Rich  in  its  rare  and  chaste  design, 

Proof  'gainst  time  or  storm. 

It  sanctifies  the  air  around, 

And  sets  apart  a  place, 
Like  heart  of  man,  where  God  is  found, 

To  meet  him  face  to  face. 
The  morn  is  fair — the  Archbishop 

Sits  in  his  cap  and  stole  ; 

1  True  incident  in  the  building  of  the  great  Strasburg  cathedral. 
93 


94  POEMS,   DRAMATIC  AND  LYRIC. 

He  looks  with  joy  upon  the  walls, 
Which  ravish  all  his  soul. 


Here,  as  he  sits,  a  woman  comes, 

Bearing  within  her  arms 
A  stone  of  wondrous  beauty  wrought, 

A  stone  of  many  charms. 
It  is  the  work  of  her  own  hands, 

And  in  it  lies  her  heart  ; 
"  My  lord,  accept  this  for  thy  church," 

She  says,  and  would  depart. 

"  Stay,  woman  !  this  is  rarely  fine  " 

(He  cries  in  eager  haste). 
"No  other  stone  in  all  that  church 

So  beautiful,  so  chaste. 
But  how  shall  workmen  place  it  there 

Where  best  one  may  admire  ? 
Already  finish  they  their  work 

Upon  the  topmost  spire  ! 
"  Yet  this  must  surely  have  its  place 

Where  men  its  beauty  see, 


POEMS,   DRAMA  TIC  AND  L  YRIC.  95 

To  hide  it  from  the  eyes  of  all, 
I  never  can  agree." 

"  Nay,  but,  my  lord,"  the  woman  said, 

In  voice  both  soft  and  low, 
"  If  as  you  say  no  place  is  found 

To  use  it  here  below, 
Then  let  the  workmen  bear  it  up, 

And  place  it  in  the  spire  ; 
If  men  know  nothing  of  this  stone, 

And  none  be  to  admire, 
I  know  that  God  above  will  see, 

His  angels  will  behold 
The  work  I  've  put  my  heart  into 

With  all  my  love  untold. 
And  I  shall  be  well  satisfied 

To  feel  that  I  have  given 
The  best  I  had,  not  seen  of  men, 

But  seen  of  God  in  heaven." 

According  as  the  woman  wished, 
They  carried  up  the  stone  ; 


POEMS,  DRAMATIC  AND  LYRIC. 

Its  beauty  hidden  from  the  world, 

Far  up  in  tower  lone. 
She  heeded  not  the  fame  thereof 

Might  never  go  abroad, 
But  satisfied  her  work  to  give 

To  angels  and  to  God. 
And  there  ! — as  flame  reveals  the  fire — 

Burning  in  the  sky, 
Unto  this  day,  cathedral  spire 

Lifteth  her  work  on  high. 


BROKEN  FRIENDSHIP. 


I  send  no  greeting  ;  I  do  not  even  feel 
Your  name  forgotten  when  in  prayer  I  kneel. 
You  came  into  my  life  and  passed  away, 
A  troubled  dream  which  flies  before  the  day. 

You  asked  too  much. 

There  comes,  at  last,  an  end 
Of  what  one  ought  to  suffer  for  a  friend. 
It  then  becomes  ignoble — self-abase, — 
Not  sacrifice — pure — holy — full  of  grace. 

I  suffered  much  where  now  I  cannot  feel  ; 
I  do  not  still  pretend  a  friendly  zeal 
In  what  you  do — or  are — or  where  you  go  ; 
A  calm  indifference  is  all  I  know. 
97 


POEMS,   DRAMA  TIC  AND  L  YRIC. 

I  am  not  angry  even,  nor  doth  there  burn 
Resentment  in  my  heart  ! — No  ! 

You  must  learn 

How  wholly  I  forgive  and  can  forget. 
The  sun,  upon  two  friends, 

Hath  simply  set. 


SONGS 

OF 

CONSTANCE   FAUNT   LE  ROY   RUNCIE 

AUTHOR  OF  "  POEMS  DRAMATIC  AND  LYRIC  "  AND  "  DIVINELY  LED  " 


A  MERRY  LIFE— D  minor—  Bass  Solo. 
DOVE  OF  PEACE— D  major—  Contralto. 
TONE-POEMS— Contralto. 
SILENCE  AND  THE  SEA— A  major— 
Contralto. 

I  HOLD    MY    HEART  SO    STILL— 

E  flat — Mezzo-soprano. 
I  'VE     WANDERED    FAR— B    flat— 

Contralto. 
YES,  I  LOVE  YOU— D  major—  Soprano.  , 

TAKE  MY  SOUL,  O  LORD  !—  A  major 

— Contralto. 
I     NEVER     TOLD     HIM     THAT     I 

LOVED   HIM— G—  Soprano. 


W.  A.  POND, 

25    UNION   SQUARE, 
NEW  YORK. 


MATTHIUS  GREY, 

SAN  FRANCISCO, 
CAL. 


CHICAGO  MUSIC 
CO., 

CHICAGO, 
ILL. 


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